Posturing
by The Illegible
Summary: They find a moment after taking Eulmore, before giving chase at Mt. Gulg. Since they both know an end of sorts is near, the time has come to address a subject of burning curiosity.


The Warrior of Light spies him in Eulmore, in the hours after Vauthry's departure as Ryne works to return balance where she can.

Kholusia can't be a comfortable region for the Ascian. The skies have been ablaze here for a century and the Lightwarden responsible has gorged himself to greater excess than any of his fellows. Still, the desire to watch seems to override whatever inconvenience Emet-Selch suffers for it, as he leans against a pillar in his antiquated robes from a foreign world. His expression is difficult to pin down, though it is easy enough to track his focus. Sometimes only his eyes move, other times he'll turn his whole head.

"You must be very bored," she comments, approaching from behind. Although the Warrior does not hide her footsteps, it isn't as if the city doesn't bustle with identical strides at all times.

Emet-Selch doesn't start, but cocks an ear toward her briefly before abandoning his pillar to turn. To face her. His eyebrows perch high as he does and from how his mouth gathers, he seems stuck between amused and exasperated.

"Aren't you supposed to be playing fetch, hero?" he asks glibly. Inclining almost imperceptively toward her as his shoulders slide into place around him. "Run along."

"In a moment," she replies. Rocking back on her heels, it occurs to her that the Ascian—no. The Garlean form he prefers… he could very well be taller than she is. It's only with him standing thus that she has to look down. Hardly novel for an elezen, and yet… "It's been a trying day. Occasionally even your hero likes to gather her thoughts."

A snort. A glance back to the aetheryte plaza, bustling with activity as it is. "You flatter yourself."

She hums lightly, folds her hands at the base of her skull. Elbows raised to flank her face. "Hardly. You're the only one who insists on bringing it up so often. It's become rather particular to you… or don't you know my name?"

A thin smile at that, and his shoulders slide further. It's slight enough that were she not watching carefully, none might have noticed. "Did you have another question to try me with?"

The Warrior of Light lids her eyes, raises her own brows in-turn. "Not today, villain," she replies in good humor. "But I would ask a boon of you."

This appears to surprise him, and he returns the favor with a chuckle. "Being a villain I really should reject you out of hand."

She rolls her eyes, grinning. "A loss to us both if you do. It might have been interesting."

The look he retorts with _withers_, but seems to lack true frustration. "Oh, just be out with it."

The grin doesn't dissipate, but settles into a more relaxed smile. "There is a point," she says, "that has been vexing me nigh since we've met. If you would indulge this pale imitation, I only ask you close your eyes a moment."

It brings her near the edge of laughter herself to see how affronted he looks at that. "I beg your pardon?"

She flashes her teeth, winningly. "Gods, you'd think I asked for your firstborn."

"You do recall," he says, exasperated, "that you're the woman responsible for killing Igeyorhm and Nabriales. Yes?"

The Warrior sighs. Takes a book—_the_ book—from her belt. Presses it into her enemy's hands.

"I'll not be killing you," she declares, "in the middle of a crowded marketplace. Let alone without this. Should you abscond with it I do have others, but if you would resist that temptation it might just earn my good grace."

He furrows his brow. This, gradually, shifts into a smirk.

"What tired mischief do you hope to achieve here?"

She shrugs. "The kind of tired mischief at _least_ one of us should appreciate." Inclining her own head, she adds, "Really. This is nothing that might stoke the ire of an Ascian. It only occurs to me that I am running low on Lightwardens to fell, and these affairs never end quietly."

This time, she looks away.

"…Circumstances being as they are, I'd like to share at least one trivial moment with you first. Heavens know heavier ones are inevitable."

This time, he sighs. For several moments the only sound comes from a wounded city, murmuring and stumbling around them.

He says her name.

She turns, and Emet-Selch's eyes are closed. Features unreadable.

The Warrior of Light finds the corners of her mouth quirking upward. Gingerly, gently, she comes to stand beside him. "No peeking," she says, and brings one hand to rest lightly in the small of his back. He manages to comply, but it is immediately apparent this has, in fact caught him off-guard.

The second hand finds his chest

With the utmost care, she manages to nudge him into a proper standing position. "Now hold still."

"You are," he says, clearly amused now, "really pressing your luck."

She beams, but does not deny this. Quickly checks herself against him with her hand.

"Sir," she says, "if you want to confirm, you'll find you do indeed have the advantage."

Emet-Selch, surrounded by mortals and holding the favored weapon of his nemesis, only tilts his head back and laughs.


End file.
